


Alive

by botgal



Series: No Worse, But No Better [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Beforus, Beforus Culling, Catharsis, Culling, Dubcon or Noncon Moirallegiance reference, Self-Destructive Behavior, angry culled 13 year old finally gets freedom, immediately proceeds to be as reckless as possible, to feel alive for the first time in his life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 08:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/botgal/pseuds/botgal
Summary: "No more restrictions. No one telling you what to do or how weak you are that you can't live your own life. No cullers forcing emotions and feelings onto you when you were unable to fight back. This is a fight you can throw yourself into, no matter how much it hurts; and you relish every bit of pain anyway, because at least now you can tell yourself you can take it, even when no one else could."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another companion piece written up in the theme of 'You Are A Culled Troll' and 'Such A Kind Troll'.

There's something almost cathartic about pain.

That isn't to say it's something you enjoy, no; you don't derive pleasure from pain. It's more the act of... sensation.

Your wigglerhood consisted of little in the way of normality that other young trolls experienced.

When most trolls tripped and fell, scraped a knee, they ran to their lusus and cried. They were given a pat on the head, maybe a bit more depending on how bad the fall or how young the troll. Once the tears were dried, they would be smiling again and running around after having shaken it off.

This sort of concept, while interesting in theory, was not the type of experience you had.

When you fell, even if you didn't scrape yourself, it was your culler who ran to you. There were no soothing animal sounds and gentle coaxing to see how little the injury was. You were a delicate mutant of course. What if your tripping had broken your leg? Or if a cut caused you to bleed out?

One time you accidentally bumped your head while retrieving a pencil from under the table and your culler rushed you to the emergency room and spent the rest of the day there being checked for a concussion.

Your wigglerhood wasn't just soft, it was padded and cushioned to a smothering extent. Like the world around you was muted for your own supposed benefit, no matter how suffocating it really felt. What you would have once given to be that little two-sweep old Gold-Blooded girl who scraped her elbow on the pavement across the road from your culler's hive; crying and clutching an arm which would have bled an ugly mutant red instead of dark yellow, until you were encouraged to stand up on your own two feet again because it was so little really.

Now, at six sweeps old, it's something you _have_ to do.

The imps, ever stronger since they all became prototyped with the lusii of your eleven friends, and the contribution of a dead feather-beast you'd found outside your culler's hive. With your friends all scattered about their respective planets, with only your server Latula and your client Mituna to talk to on occasion as they needed you, you were all alone to fend for yourself against the onslaught of black chess monsters.

Safe to say, you have never felt more alive in your entire life.

Suddenly you're thrown into this world of new energy and the fight for survival. Air burns in your lungs, tasting of the copper-iron blood taste and stench that your land is always perfumed with. Wounds sting at your skin that drip a color not unlike the monsters you fight (it only fits that your freak blood that should not exist is only something common among such nightmarish creatures as these imps and ogres). Your stomach lurches with the remnants of the meal you gorged yourself on the night before, things your culler had never let you so much as taste bud had indulged in time and time again; you regretted nothing even in spite of the richness still roiling your insides.

Another scream rips from your throat as you clumsily sink your sickle blade into the beast's back, then quickly pull out to slice off an arm. No one here to tell you to quiet down, that making such loud noises would only hurt your throat. No one here coddling you and telling you to stop over the roar of your own blood rushing in your ears 

No culler, no one telling you what to do or how to deal with your pain. It's just you and your battles, and you couldn't be more exhilarated.

Every swing of the scythe. Every cut in your skin. Every scream that rips your throat raw is a new experience and a new frustration released into the monster-ridden emptiness of your land.

One swing for every time you were spoken over, every time you had to endure unwanted hands on you, every time you were reminded of your weaknesses and your helplessness. Every single time you had to lie still as your culler put disgusting icy hands on you that made your skin crawl under the guise of pale affections to soothe you.

Even if you still can't manage to force yourself into telling your friends about all that, at the very least you can scream your heart out about it while slaughtering imps.

No more restrictions. No one telling you what to do or how weak you are that you can't live your own life. No cullers forcing emotions and feelings onto you when you were unable to fight back. This is a fight you can throw yourself into, no matter how much it hurts; and you relish every bit of pain anyway, because at least now you can tell yourself you can take it, even when no one else could.

You finish off your beastly foe and look up, seeing dark shapes rising in the distance. You stand, gritting your teeth, and you run directly for them. Ready to bloody yourself for a new fight.

Ready to keep on feeling alive.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've honestly always loved the idea of reckless to the point of nearly self-destructive Kankri in his initial entrance to the game. This troll kid who's spent his whole life treated as a pet (and other things if you've read the other fics I've made in this general Beforus culling ideology) is sent to another world and basically goes from 0 freedom to All the freedom at once. Angry, repressed, spent-his-whole-life-without-full-autonomy child who finally has the ability to do whatever he wants, and goes about it in the least healthy way possible.  
> He calms the hell down after a while, of course, and becomes the Insufferable we all know and kinda tolerate, but this is just my general idea of how he could have been in the early days of their session, at least.


End file.
